Unlikely Heroes: The Lich Phage Marrowice
by SickleYield
Summary: First in a series: Every hero isn't a Thrall or even an Arthas. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some fall into the category of none of the above. Here is the story of one such unlikely hero.
1. Chapter 1

Unlikely Heroes: The Lich Phage Marrowice

First in what will probably be a series of stories set between WCIII and WoW. Takes some liberties. I will note that there are good reasons why Liches are generally made from loyal shamans and necromancers, not enemy footmen. Phage will remain an ex-human, however, because I can think of few heroes less likely than he presently is.

Writing these because I got to thinking: for every hero who strides mightily about smiting his or her enemies, there must be another two or three who are just trying to get by. And if you think star-crossed lovers have problems, try finding someone to have and to hold when you have no fleshy bits whatsoever…

Chapter 1

Another hot noonday beat down on the Barrens of Kalimdor. An eagle circled lazily against a brazen sky, idly searching for small, furry things to dismember. Wild kodos snuffled contentedly as they grazed about the open plain. And, nestled in the shadow of a cliff beside a stream, the only Lich within several hundred miles hovered low to the ground and wished he were dead. Figuratively speaking.

Phage Marrowice rubbed his temples, producing a bony scratching noise. The ache in his head must surely be imaginary. Pain is a permanent condition of unlife, to the point that other races mistakenly believe that Undead cannot feel. After the first few weeks of horror and torment, Phage had learned to ignore or at least to deal with it. Now he had a stabbing pain behind his parietal plates, for no physical reason that he could see.

It was looking like a bad day to be a Lich. He'd drawn the short straw to begin with in being sent south to perform a reconnaissance of the Barrens, and all his requests for more resources had come to naught. His unlife had at one point actually been threatened by the Crypt Lord in charge of supply. Since he had only been Undead for a few months, and the Crypt Lord outranked him considerably, Phage had swallowed his pride and started south.

So here he was, sitting – or rather, hovering – under a scraggly palm tree in the midst of a miniscule encampment around the only gold mine for miles. It was a _good _mine. And it should be, considering the number of centaurs he'd had to kill to get it.

_The location, however, is far from ideal. _There was a stream on one side and an embankment of bare rock on the other, which in theory made it a very defensible location. In practice, however, the Barrens contained any number of creatures with the capacity for flight. None of them were particularly friendly, and all of them seemed to be slow learners. Phage had already lost a quarter of his original troops to dive bomb attacks from harpies, red dragons, the occasional phoenix(of all things), and one zeppelin which had crashed while carrying a load of drunken goblins. He'd had to rebuild half his makeshift necropolis after _that _incident.

Fortunately, the trees in the area were sparse. Once he'd satisfied his initial lumber needs – which were little, since their summoned buildings were inevitably mostly stone - there had been enough clear space to make it very difficult for centaurs and razormanes to ambush his camp. He'd even been able to keep several Blight-resistant types for shade.

The heat was another problem. As warm as the Barrens were even now, in autumn, his abominations were decaying faster than he could train new ones. The ghouls looked like mummies, and he hadn't even bothered to try to resurrect any dragons. Frost wyrm bones raining down on his skull would make the debacle just about complete.

He'd sent a shade northwards a week ago, starting the long trip back to Icecrown to make his report. This would make Phage's third attempt to get any reply whatsoever out of his superiors.

He had been moderately successful in his primary mission here. Unfortunately, his report that a very large force had left Orgrimmar apparently had reached Northrend at approximately the same time as the large force itself. The fact that no one had even bothered to teach him to teleport so that he could report in a _timely _fashion strongly suggested this mission was not a priority of any kind. The Orcs hadn't noticed his tiny encampment yet. In his current mood, he was sure it was just a matter of time.

And now an acolyte was moving in his direction with a purposeful glide which could not possibly mean good news.

"Lord Marrowice," the acolyte said, and bowed. Phage sighed, a difficult maneuver in one lacking lungs. He _recognized _this acolyte. The others seemed to have elected her to be the bringer of bad news, because whenever anything went wrong, she was the one he saw.

"Lord of what, Acolyte Felwyn?"

"Milord?" Felwyn Smallfinger said, blinking from under her hood. Like all the acolytes, Phage's only truly living units, she had lost her cultivated pallor in the constant sun of the Barrens.

"Do you know what I was, before I was an Undead?"

"No, Lord," Felwyn said. She had probably been a buxom girl once. Now she had thinned into wiry androgyny, like all the other acolytes who had survived life in the Barrens.

"I was a footman in Jaina Proudmoore's army. Before _that, _I was a peasant. A singularly inept one. I didn't even have a girl to leave behind when I was pressed into the infantry. If I hadn't been almost as bad a footman as I was a peasant, I wouldn't even be able to _read_. And now I'm a floating three-quarters of a skeleton because some unusually clever necromancer saw me go down fighting and thought I had _potential. _I didn't even get to choose my own name, you know that?"

"…No, Milord…?"

"Never mind," the Lich waved a bony hand at the puzzled expression on the acolyte's undernourished but very tan features. "What seems to be the trouble? No, don't tell me. The Night Elves are here to complain about the five trees we had to cut down to build the camp."

Felwyn stared at him wordlessly, eyes wide, thin lips puckered in shock.

_Oh, no, _Phage thought.

"How did you know,Milord?"

"Never mind, Acolyte," Phage Marrowice said wearily. "Bring whoever it is here." _I suppose technically I should kill them just for being here, but I don't particularly want to bring a main force of Elves down on my head when I've got so few troops. The way things are going, no one back at Headquarters is going to know anyway._

"I live but to serve, Milord!" Felwyn said, and turned enthusiastically to carry out his order. Phage rubbed his forehead as he watched her glide away. _How do they manage to walk like that, anyway? I can hardly manage a steady glide _without _any legs._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

In the event, Phage found himself facing a huntress with an honor guard of two archers. Both lavender-skinned elves kept arrows nocked to their bows as their leader reined up under Phage's tree. She rode some kind of large feline, but this one looked more like a native of the Barrens than the few night elf mounts Phage had seen. It was rangy, long-legged, and most noticeably, tan in color rather than black.

"Are you Phage Marrowice?" she asked without preamble.

Phage bowed slightly. "How may I serve?"

"I am the Huntress Viri Starwater. My camp is on the other side of the ridge," she said. "You will understand if I am not more specific."

_Night Elves, _he thought wearily_. They still think being ancient makes you all-knowing. That hasn't changed, at least._

"Nor need you be," Phage said dryly. "One of my shades spotted your camp some days ago." His only shade, at the moment, but there was no need to mention that.

"Then perhaps you know why I am here," Huntress Starwater said. "We are forced to overlook certain activities of the Horde given that they presently outnumber us, but the same is not true of – what is _that_?"

"What?" Phage asked.

The Huntress turned in her saddle to watch a tall skeleton stalk past. It seemed to be clad in rags, and its bones were gray and seamed with cracks. As it went it clanked its jaw up and down, seemingly speaking to itself in a language all its own. A purple light glowed from the eye sockets and ribcage, and a ragged but distinctly feminine whisper could occasionally be heard emanating from it.

"Oh. We've been using skeletons to do some of our simpler work. They stand the heat better than the ghouls do."

"I have seen skeletons summoned by the Scourge's necromancers," the Huntress said. "That did not resemble them."

Phage shrugged, insofar as that was possible. "We found some old human graves, probably from an exploration of the continent some generations ago. That one – I've been calling him Gray, it seems to fit – is rather intelligent for a skeleton. He can even speak, when he wishes. One of my banshees was quite taken with him. They followed each other around for a couple of weeks, and then she moved right in."

"Into - ?"

"Into Gray, as near as we can tell," Phage said. "But that's not what you came to speak about. Something about the trees, wasn't it?"

"Yes." The Huntress turned back to Phage, an expression of grim purpose settling on her attenuated features. "You have no rights here, and if you continue to slaughter the original inhabitants of this land, we will take steps."

Phage ran down the list of creatures he had slaughtered since the camp was established. "You mean the harpies?"

"No. Their activities are of no consequence to us."

"Or the centaurs? We did kill a fair number of those when we moved in here."

"No," Starwater said impatiently. "It is not the centaurs to whom I refer."

"Is it the razormanes, then? Because they've been attacking _us _since we got here and I don't see any way to - "

"I speak of the trees, Lich," Starwater snapped. "They were here long before any other living thing occupied Kalimdor. I would know. I was here."

"I see." Well, he'd expected this, hadn't he? "We have to have lumber, Huntress. Most of our buildings, as you can see, are entirely stone. But, like yourselves, we will from time to time need some kind of product that cannot be dug out of the ground."

"Night elves do not cut trees," the Huntress said flatly.

"You don't have to. You've got those little glowing things that give your camp's position away from the air at night. What are those, anyway?"

"The wisps are the spirits of our ancestors," Viri Starwater said. "They perform all of our building without the need for killing the ancients who grow here."

Phage considered this for a moment. "Your _ancestors _do all your manual labor? Is this some strange reversal of the Orcish religion? I suppose it would be the other way around, given that you're immortal. Or did you give that up?"

Starwater stared at him in silence for a moment. Phage looked back. He would win a staring contest against a Night Elf every time. It helped that he lacked eyelids and therefore could not, technically, blink.

"Never mind that," she said at last. "I am not entirely sure myself whether or not I am aging. And as for the wisps… Before enemies came here once again, it took a particularly stupid Night Elf to even _become _an ancestor. Otherwise, most of them would be my own age by now."

"Hm," Phage said. "Would you consider letting us borrow one or two of these… subnormal ancestors of yours? We would then have no need to cut any more trees. I would see that they are treated well. We've got plenty of spirits around here, the Lich King knows."

As if to illustrate this point, a banshee coasted past them, barely visible in the bright sun. The Huntress narrowed her eyes as if in thought.

"We could simply wipe out your settlement," she said. "I am certain the Orcs would thank us for it."

"Are you sure?" Phage said. "My scouts inform me that you presently have nothing or no one in your camp who can fly. I can assure you that you will encounter considerable difficulty attacking us otherwise."

"He is telling the truth, Mistress," one of the archers spoke up. "This place would not be easily taken."

"Hm," Starwater said in turn. "I will give your proposal some consideration, Lord Marrowice."

"Just Phage," Phage said. "Good day, Huntress Starwater."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A pair of wisps arrived early the next morning, before the camp's living units were awake. Phage Marrowice heard the faint chiming well before he saw the two glowing spheres come over the cliff edge and drift down over the haunted mine. They cast a blue glow over the rough black structure of the mine itself, clashing with the green one that emanated from most of the Undead buildings.

Phage stood under his tree and watched them approach. He did not require sleep, and the inside of his undersized and makeshift necropolis was particularly stuffy at night.

A ghoul paused in grooming itself with its tongue to observe the new arrivals. It turned to sidle over to Phage. He watched its jaws work as it looked up at him, trying to form words with its decayed vocal cords.

"Wazzat?" it managed finally.

"These are our new lumber harvesters," Phage said. "They are not to be harmed or interfered with in any way. Tell the others."

The ghoul made an affirmative noise and sat up momentarily on its back feet. Phage glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly patted the ghoul on the head. It made a growling noise that could charitably be mistaken for a purr as it turned to pad off. It was hard to tell with ghouls, but Phage suspected all eight of them would be happy to have even that much less work to do in the heat.

One wisp made a faint chiming noise as it came to a graceful halt in front of Phage. No words were discernible, but he found that he understood.

"Yes, that's me."

The wisp made further sounds which communicated that Huntress Starwater would be watching the camp to make sure he kept his end of the bargain.

"I'm sure she will," Phage sighed. "Well, go ahead and… Do whatever it is that you do. You might want to stay towards the north end. The area right under the cliff edge is generally sheltered when we're attacked from that direction."

The sun had already risen fully. Phage calculated that the acolytes should be just about ready by now, given that they slept very little for humans. He glided over toward the haunted mine.

"Acolyte!"

"Yes, Master!" came a voice from inside, and a moment later a tall cultist moved quickly out of the low entrance.

"Ah, Mir'noj," Phage said, recalling that this acolyte, unlike Felwyn, had given up his original name in favor of one which he thought better reflected his allegiance. "We are shortly going to be under observation by one or more large blue owls. See that nothing happens to them, all right? The abominations are too slow to catch them anyway, especially in this heat, but I don't want them eaten by the ghouls."

"Blue…owls?" Mir'noj said.

"Yes, Acolyte. We seem to have made an informal agreement with some Night Elves. I do not particularly wish to offend them at this stage."

The Acolyte looked puzzled under his face paint, which clashed awkwardly with his tan. "But Lord Marrowice! Are they not our enemies, like all those who resist the might of the Scourge?"

Mir'noj might be a little zealous for his own good, Phage reflected. He had made it clear that he hoped to become a necromancer in good time, and he still seemed disappointed in Phage's denial of his repeated offers to summon a Temple of the Damned when their resources were not adequate to support one.

"Technically, yes," Phage said. "But let me explain something to you, Acolyte. At present our camp contains six acolytes, eight ghouls, two banshees, one necromancer, one shade, and until we find more corpses to make them from, two abominations. And the skeletons, of course, but except for Gray they keep falling apart. Do you know what will happen if we are attacked by even an exploratory force of Night Elves?"

"No, Master," Mir'noj said.

"We will be obliterated, Acolyte. Every single one of us will be destroyed, and we are too far from any other Undead force to hope for resurrection. And, of course, our mission will fail." _Not that it already hasn't, _he thought bleakly, but kept this to himself. "We have been fortunate in that this particular force of Night Elves is very small, and they are led by a Huntress. If we had a Priestess of the Moon to deal with, we would not under any circumstances be able to dissuade them from attacking us. At present we have a chance at least to delay an engagement until we can build a stronger fighting force."

_If we _can _build a stronger fighting force, _Phage thought, but again decided it would not be wise to say this to Mir'noj.

"Then this is all part of your greater plan," Mir'noj said in a tone of awed realization. "We will increase our strength, and then fall on the puling forces of the living like a hammer upon a nail!"

_Or possibly vice versa._ "I can see you have grasped the essentials, Acolyte," Phage said. "See that what I told you is done."

"Of course, Master!" Mir'noj enthused, and whirled to – run? It was hard to tell – back into the mine and tell the others.

The new wisps had better come up with enough lumber to summon a Temple soon, Phage thought as he listened to the excited echoes from inside the mine. Mir'noj was exactly the type to be planted on him as a spy for Icecrown.

_Serve them right, _Phage thought. _There's no way he could possibly be sending reports, unless he managed to suborn my shade before he left for Northrend._ That seemed unlikely. Shades generally did not socialize with the living, treasuring their Undead status to the point that they did not care to spend time with their former fellow acolytes.

He would dearly love to see Mir'noj sacrificed, but it would be a long time before he could expand the necropolis enough to procure a Sacrificial Pit.

_Then again, the shade itself could be the spy. In that case he left too soon to find out about this Night Elf matter, and I have nothing to worry about, _Phage told himself.

He was not entirely sure he believed it.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"But Mistress Starwater!" said Meisha, looking over her shoulder as she groomed her Nightsabre panther's sleek hide. "Are they not our enemies, like all who seek to defile the lands of Kalimdor?"

The two Night Elves stood in the shade of the Ancient of War, safe in the glade they had chosen for their outpost.

"Technically, yes," Viri Starwater sighed, scratching her own mount behind the ears as she leaned her elbows on the animal's back. The Grassbounder lioness turned and lapped her face with an enormous rough tongue. "Eugh. Down, Brightfangs. But let me explain something to you, my Warrior. At present this outpost contains twelve wisps, six archers, two huntresses besides you and me, one dryad, and one druid of the claw whom, I would like to add, I have not seen in the last week. And whatever beasts we can convince to aid us, of course, but they cannot be relied upon. Do you know what will happen, if we attack an Undead settlement in a cliff-shadow with no flying units?"

"No, Mistress," Meisha said, though it was plain she had clear ideas on this head.

"We will be obliterated. Undead buildings can defend themselves, although not in the same way that Ancients do. And I, a mere huntress, cannot defend any of us against the chill arts of a Lich." Viri brooded on this for a moment in silence. "This way, at least, we have hopefully forestalled any further destruction of nature until we can find another way to approach the problem."

"Then you do have a plan, Mistress?" Meisha said hopefully. "We will increase our strength, and then fall on the rotting Undead like a stone upon a dry twig?"

_Or vice versa, _Viri thought, but did not want to dim her friend's enthusiasm.

"I see you have divined the general outlines already," she said, forcing a smile. "See that the other warriors understand the cursed enemy is not to be trifled with, for now."

"By Elune!" Meisha said cheerily, gave her panther a final pat, and swung up onto its back. Viri watched gloomily as they bounded into the leafy shadows that made the camp indistinguishable from ancient deciduous forest. Of course, that was not particularly helpful, given that they were otherwise surrounded by palm trees. _No wonder the Lich's spies found us so quickly._

Meisha was really too good a huntress to be saddled with a commander like Viri Starwater. Viri's lack of zeal for the Goddess was no doubt responsible for her assignment to this minor reconnaissance post out in the Barrens, where it was difficult for Ancients to take root.

It all just seemed so… _Pointless. _Viri had been a huntress for several thousand years without hope of promotion, assigned to useless post after useless post. By this time she had no hope of being trained as a Priestess, because she couldn't manage to muster the kind of enthusiasm that seemed to come naturally to Meisha.

Not even her druid of the claw seemed to take her seriously, and druids took _everything _seriously. Goddess only knew where he had wandered off to now.

The sun was rising, hot rays streaming through the tree branches above. Viri rested her head on Brightfangs' back for a second. _Perhaps the Lich will keep his bargain, and I have nothing to worry about, _she told herself.

She was not entirely sure she believed it.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The red dragons attacked at close to the noon hour.

Phage Marrowice was inside the Graveyard, trying to find a way to increase his ghouls' armor without using his precious store of lumber, when he heard a banshee shriek:

"Dieeeeee!"

Then he heard his two functional Nerubian towers began their hissing barrage. He sped from the Graveyard in time to see one of his ghouls incinerated by a blast of dragon flame. A pile of ash crumbled to the ground where it had been.

"Wonderful," Phage said. He turned to survey the giant saurians. They seemed to be turning toward the nearest tower. The one free banshee followed them, screaming, but even at a low hover they were out of her reach.

One dragon was much larger than the other. The small one darted back and forth around and above it, occasionally emitting smaller gouts of flame.

"Where is Ner'zirhud?" Phage demanded of the camp at large, shouting to be heard above the sound of towers, dragons, and one increasingly frustrated banshee. The acolytes were nowhere in sight. Presumably they were hiding.

"Here, Milord!" came the necromancer's quavering voice. Phage turned to see a pair of horns extending around the edge of the door to the necropolis.

"Ner'zirhud, get out here and kill the dragons _before _they destroy all of our food!"

The horns vibrated. "Must I?"

"Yes, curse you! Get out here this instant or I will personally rend you limb from limb!"

This was unlikely, given the difficulty in acquiring enough leverage to rend anything when one has no feet to brace against the ground, but it seemed to work. The necromancer scurried out of the necropolis and toward his Lord and, presumably, Master. "But what can I do, Lord Marrowice? Magic is of no use against these creatures!"

"I know," Phage snapped. "Or I'd be using it myself. Now is the time for you to use those corpses you've been saving and make us some skeleton archers."

"But Lord!" Ner'zirhud protested. "I only have the three we dug out of that burial mound! They're hundreds of years old. They won't last two minutes against dragons!"

Marrowice resisted a powerful urge to seize the man by the throat and shake him. _If all my crypt fiends hadn't been killed the first week…_

"Then maybe you can buy us enough time for the towers to kill them," he said finally. "Now _go._"

"The dead shall serve!" Ner'zirhud proclaimed nervously, and turned to run for the Graveyard.

Probably-not-Lord Marrowice turned back in time to see an acolyte emerge from the gold mine. The thin figure darted toward the besieged towers, one of which was now wreathed in flames. As Phage watched, the acolyte ducked under a dragon wing and began waving his or her arms frantically, performing a hurried Repair spell.

_Scratch one more acolyte, _Phage thought. _Great. _He could always have Ner'zirhud procure another skeleton from the body, but bodies were still easier to come by than willing acolytes. Phage turned his skull to look at the Graveyard, where he saw no sign of the necromancer. _He's probably hiding behind a mound._

Phage sighed and began to call up mana, wrapping the incorporeal structure around his body as he prepared his spell. He'd become rather good at it in the last few weeks, and it only took a few seconds. He raised his arms, and a faint steam in front of his face became a roaring sphere of frost that flew through the air and slammed into the larger dragon. The beast was momentarily plastered with a wall of ice.

For a mere instant, Phage thought it might work. Then the frost evaporated, streaming off the dragon's flanks like smoke. The dragon, apparently unharmed and definitely very angry, turned in midair to look for the source of the annoyance.

Underneath its belly, the acolyte finished repairing with commendable speed and scooted toward the next tower, which was currently under attack by the smaller dragon. Behind them, a taller acolyte left the gold mine and started for the first one.

And Phage Marrowice found himself face-to-skull with several tons of fiery destruction.

He held his ground as the dragon swept closer, its leathery wingtips almost brushing the ground. It held its flame for a moment, turning its great head to bring a yellow eye to bear on him.

Phage swore silently, waiting for his mana to recharge. Not that it really mattered. Nothing he could do would make an impression on a dragon. He was looking at the end of his very short unlife. _I was a failure at being a peasant, a failure at being a footman, and now an extremely failed Lich. Now that I come to consider it, this moment was probably inevitable._

The dragon moved in closer. Phage found himself looking into its gaping maw, where a yellow light was just beginning to glow.

It was at that precise instant that a skeleton in rags leaped from the peak of the necropolis onto the dragon's back.

The dragon snorted, forgetting the Lich, and turned in midair as it tried to see what was clinging to its spine. Phage watched as Gray clambered forward between the animal's wings. His rib cage glowed bright purple now, and Phage heard a familiar wailing song over the sound of beating wings.

_Surely she can't possibly plan to - ?_

She did.

The purple glow shot from between the skeleton's ribs and dove down the dragon's throat. Phage watched with limited interest, all his faculties still busily concentrated on the fact that he was about to die. Figuratively speaking.

He never considered that, while banshees are known to be unable to possess air units, this might be because no one has ever gotten a banshee that far off the ground.

The purple gleam expanded into a blinding violet flash. Phage did not close his eyes, because this was not, technically, possible, so he was the first to see it subside. The dragon hung there in the air, placidly beating its wings. Gray sat straddling its neck with his bony legs, chattering his teeth at it in what was probably an affectionate manner.

"Are you in there?" Phage said, when he finally remembered how to speak without any vocal cords.

The dragon turned its head, showing an eye that was now definitely purple in color.

"Excellent," Phage said weakly. "Go kill the other one, will you?"

Gray clattered and nudged the dragon with his patella. The dragon turned and flapped off toward the Nerubian towers, where the smaller dragon was making little headway.

It was then that Phage noticed the acolyte lying prone on the ground between the towers. Felwyn's clothing was scorched, and in some places it had disintegrated to show burned flesh beneath. Her hood had fallen back, and he could clearly see a wide eye fixed on Mir'noj's face as the tall man leaned over her with a long knife.

Liches can move quite quickly, when they wish.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Phage had never been very strong, even when he was human. But he didn't have to be. He was a Lich.

The wall of frost hit Mir'noj traveling faster than anything Phage had ever cast. The acolyte was knocked several feet backwards, pinned to the ground by rapidly melting ice.

One of the two abominations lumbered around the edge of the camp toward Phage, completing its patrol. _Of course. They know they can't fight a dragon, so they just kept on walking. They're not too stupid, for abominations._

"Don't let him go anywhere," Phage snapped, pointing toward Mir'noj as he swooped toward Felwyn. "But don't kill him yet."

"Okaaay," the abomination growled, and turned to bear down on the fallen man. The surviving ghouls began to pour out of buildings all over the camp, converging on the area of action.

Phage noted from the corner of one eye that the smaller dragon was already a smoking pile of bones. Ner'zirhud, unsurprisingly late, was on his way out of the Graveyard with skeletons in tow.

"See if you can do anything with the carcass," Phage said. "If you can't, feed it to the footsoldiers."

"Yes, My Lord!" Ner'zirhud said, but Phage was already turning back to Felwyn.

The acolyte struggled up to a sitting position, but did not seem able to go further. Phage winced in sympathy at the state of her skin. Her robe was almost no protection, and now most of it was gone. The tunic and leggings underneath were equally tattered. She had been badly burned by dragon fire in more than one place, and the right half of her face was a blistered mess. _Her eye is gone. It must have been a direct hit._

Observing his scrutiny, Felwyn renewed her efforts to get to her feet.

"M – My Lord - "

"Don't get up, Acolyte," Phage said heavily. "You've done very well today. It's probable that your intervention saved both our food supply and our defensive capability."

He sank down further, so that the panels of his kilt spread over the ground beside her. It was a position in which a Lich should never be seen. Phage did not care.

"Do you know why Mir'noj wanted to kill you, Felwyn?" he asked.

Part of the girl's tongue was probably burned also. Her speech was badly slurred. "He s-said I was a t-traitor for… Trying to s-save the towers… He s-said you shouldn't… Talk to th-the Elves…" One brown eye stared up at him, still wide and uncomprehending. Felwyn was probably in shock, not yet able to feel.

"I see," Phage said. "Rest assured I will deal with him according to his dealings with us."

"H-he was right," Felwyn said, working hard to enunciate the _t. _"Wasss – n't he?"

"Probably," Phage said. "I'm afraid I haven't heard from Icecrown since we arrived here, Felwyn."

"W-would have… Done i_t_… An-y-way…." Felwyn said.

"Any of us would," said a voice from behind Phage. "But we were not as brave as Felwyn." He turned to see the four other acolytes clustered behind him. Both their training and the camp conditions made them look very much like each other, but he knew that two were women.

"You've never been harsh with us," Jory Lightstep said. Phage recognized his deep voice. "You've never killed us because you were angry, even though we always sent Felwyn with the bad news."

"You haven't made us work at night," Variel Slowburn said, pushing a lock of blond hair off her forehead.

"You gave us our share of the food, even though we couldn't fight for you," said Varen Longtoes from the back.

"It has been our honor to serve," Serwyn Stickbreaker concluded fiercely.

"I am not a very good Lich," Phage said.

"But you're a good Master," Jory said. "What will we do for Felwyn, Lord?"

Phage turned back to look down at her.

_She is badly hurt. And I have no obsidian statues with which to heal her. I should put her out of her misery now, before she feels the pain._

_But I have no way to raise her again, except as a skeleton, and that wouldn't be for long. Ner'zirhud cannot make a banshee of a human girl._

There was someone who could heal her, of course. But if he went that road, the Scourge would never take him back. _I doubt seriously whether they will in any case. I was a fluke, a distempered freak of the Lich King's temper. No doubt he has already forgotten me, or wishes he could._

All those he commanded would be cut off as well, if he took a single one of them with him.

He could take Gray and the dragon. There was no place for them in Northrend, anyway.

"Call Gray," he said. "Try and rig a litter that can go on the dragon's back. I'll take her myself."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Mistress Starwater!" Meisha's panther pulled up a yard or so from Viri's lioness. "There's a Lich standing outside the camp. He says he wants to talk to you."

Viri blinked.

"A Lich?" She did not ask which one. There was only one Lich anywhere near them, and her true question was one Meisha could not possibly answer.

_What in the name of the Goddess does he think he's doing?_

"Should we kill him, Mistress?" Meisha said. "He seems to be alone, but the owl scouts have seen a dragon land back out of range of our Protectors."

"No," Viri said. "I will see what he wants first. Bring him into the camp. And do not go near him. I have seen Liches in battle, and their magery is fearsome."

In fact, she had seen at least one Lich at Mount Hyjal. She was not likely to forget _that _in a hurry.

"Yes, Mistress!" Meisha turned her mount and bounded away into the green shadows.

_He can't be after more wisps. He would not have come in person, _Viri thought as she followed more slowly. _It can't be a diplomatic visit, because our people have nothing to say to the Undead. Besides, I am not sufficiently high ranking to conclude any official agreements. _

Her first assumption was confirmed almost instantly. The Lich in the plain brown kilt who bobbed gently between her two Protectors could be no other than Phage Marrowice. The blue-white glow that suffused his skull lit the glade for a few feet in front of him, drowning out the pale light of the nearest moon wells.

"Lord Marrowice," she said. "I cannot imagine what would bring you here."

"Huntress Starwater," Marrowice said. "As little welcome as I expect to find here, I find myself in the position of being forced to ask for your help."

Viri surveyed him narrowly. It was impossible to read an expression in a Lich's face. His voice sounded slightly strangled, the way she would expect an Undead to sound when doing something so unthinkable.

"If this is a jest, it is particularly ill-timed," Viri said. Her warriors were all out of sight, melded with the shadows, but her keen ears caught their quiet voices as they took up positions all around.

"I assure you," Phage said. "If you will allow me to bring something from my dragon without being fired upon, I think you will understand."

"Be quick," Viri said. "And if this is some trick, you will be riddled with arrows before you so much as…" She trailed off as she realized blinking was not something a Lich could actually do. Fortunately, Phage had already turned away and was scooting off into the bush.

He came back a few moments later, gliding close to the ground under the burden in his skeletal arms. Viri, half-expecting some kind of weapon, was startled to see the ragged human clinging to the Lich.

Then the human turned to look at her as Phage stopped, and Viri inhaled sharply as she looked into the ruined face of a skinny girl who could hardly be out of her teens. Tears stood in her one eye, but she remained silent as she stared up at the Huntress.

"Felwyn was badly burned repairing our towers when the dragons attacked us," Phage said. "We have no way to treat her, and she is not ready to die."

"Then she should not have joined the Scourge," Viri said, trying to regather some of her shaken resolve.

"I doubt whether we are part of the Scourge any longer," Phage said. "By coming here I have likely ensured my own destruction, whether at your hands or theirs."

Viri, eyes still fixed on the acolyte, saw her head twitch toward Phage as she heard this.

"That was foolish," Viri said, mentally scrambling for a solution. _She cares what happens to this Lich, and where have you ever seen such a thing? Can you really refuse to save her life, when it is within your power?_

"I am sure that it was," Phage said. Viri looked into the blue lights of his sockets, and the one brown eye of the acolyte Felwyn, and knew what she should do.

She also understood, with a self-knowledge born of two thousand years of life, that she could not do it.

"Lay her between the moon wells," Viri said. "We will do what we can for her."

"I will stay until you are finished," Phage said.

"Yes, of course. Meisha!"

Viri gave orders without looking at her friend. She watched the Lich move over and carefully lay the human on the grass.

"Mistress, is that wise?" Meisha said when she had finished.

"No. But no one will punish you for following my orders," Viri Starwater said. "Do as I tell you."

"Yes, Huntress," Meisha said.

Phage drifted back to hover beside her as they watched the other huntress begin giving orders to the hidden Night Elves. A moment later a druid of the claw stalked out of the shade of the Ancient of War, grumbling under his breath. Viri felt the mana crackle around him from where she stood as he prepared a Rejuvenation spell.

"You seem small, for the skeleton of an Orc," she said into the awkward silence.

"With good reason," Phage said. "I was not Orcish."

Vir glanced at him, startled once again. "I had understood that the Liches were chosen from among the shamans of Ner'zhul."

"I suppose that explains why they never spoke to me," Phage said. "My command of Orcish is extremely limited. I was human, you see. My party came upon a larger party of Undead while scouting in Northrend. I was chosen from among the fallen by the necromancer Bir'Narzin. He was rather deranged, and probably is worse now, but the Lich King seems to have found the idea amusing."

"Then you were made by the Lich King, like all the others," Viri said.

"Yes, and I assure you that among first sights, the Lich King is not the one I would have chosen," Phage Marrowice said.

Viri snorted. "Indeed."

Another pause followed. The golden rings of Rejuvenation swirled around the acolyte as a pair of archers began bathing her burns with water from the nearest moon well. Viri could not help noticing that even now, though she was obviously still conscious, she made no sound.

_We have been taught that those who ally themselves voluntarily with the Undead do so because they are weak. This is not the first suggestion I have seen that this is not true._ And that was a thought that had better stay firmly inside her head, if she wanted to keep even her current post.

"That's an unusual animal you are riding," Phage said.

"Brightfangs is a Grassbounder lioness," Viri said, reaching down to pat the great feline's head. "Her pride is native to the Barrens."

"I have never seen a Night Elf astraddle such a creature," the Lich said.

"I know of no others who ride them," Viri admitted.

"And why is that?"

Viri sat in silence for a moment, debating with herself. Then she leaned forward and thumped Brightfangs on the shoulder. "Speak," she said in her own tongue.

The lioness raised her big, flat head, wrinkling back her lips to show gleaming canines. And gave tongue, like generations of Grassbounders before her.

"Mew!" she said.

Viri hunched in her saddle, ears twitching at the sound of a Lich laughing so hard he almost toppled out of the air.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

When it became clear that he would need to remain in the Night Elves' camp for some time, Phage Marrowice sent Gray and the dragon back to the camp.

"See if you can get across to the others that she'll be all right," Phage said.

Gray clattered his jaw for a second. "Esss," he said.

"I suppose it will do," Phage said. "Go on."

Gray tapped the dragon's side with a bony finger. The possessed creature heaved herself into the air, giant wings beating as she labored for altitude. A few seconds later, dragon and skeleton were out of sight.

Viri Starwater met him at the camp's border as he returned.

"How exactly did you manage to recruit a dragon?" she said. "Unless, of course, it is some secret of the Scourge."

"I hope sincerely that the Scourge never finds out," Phage said. "And it wasn't me. If Gray and the banshee hadn't managed it, I would be ashes at this moment."

He looked over toward the moon wells. After a cursory washing, the druid had placed Felwyn Smallfinger directly into one of the structures, with a tall archer holding her head above the shallow water. Phage could not see her face, but he guessed from her occasional movement that she was still conscious.

"She will be scarred," Viri said from beside him. To the extent that it was possible for a stern woman, her voice was gentle. "Not all our arts can prevent that."

"I understand," Phage said. "I don't think she'll mind. Scars have a value among the acolytes."

"I had believed that was true of my own people," Viri said, as if to herself. "I begin to wonder if I was wrong."

Phage looked at her. The Elf watched her subordinates work, but her dark eyes were distant. Her customary harness did nothing to hide the violet scar tissue that formed a twisted star on the purple surface of her right shoulder.

"And where did you come by that one?" he asked.

Huntress Starwater glanced downward. "At Mount Hyjal," she said.

"I see. Hit by a mace, were you?"

"Held by an abomination," she said briefly. "Yes."

"It seems curious that a veteran of that battle should be chosen for a posting such as this one," Phage said. "I do not presume to ask your orders, but I suspect they are similar to mine." _Keep an eye on the Orcs, and stay out of sight._

"Probably," Viri said.

"I know why _I _was sent here. I have little experience, no connections, and no pedigree. But you…"

"I have too much experience, few connections, and am equally ill-born," Viri said. "You will pardon the expression."

"Of course."

"When I told you that few Night Elves became wisps, I spoke from experience. My own parents were two such."

"Er… What happened to them?" Phage asked, when she did not seem about to continue.

"A tree fell on them," she said flatly. "During a lightning storm."

"How old were you?"

"Oh, I was a hundred by then," Viri said. "Old enough to serve the Goddess by joining the Sentinels. But I have not advanced in rank since I was a hundred and fifty."

_Impossible to judge her age, of course, _Phage thought_. It always is._ He took some slight comfort in the fact that his own age was equally impossible to judge. _To have wrinkles, one must first have skin._

"That… Seems like a long time," he said.

"Over seventeen hundred years," Viri said.

_You thought you had problems, _Phage thought, calculating silently. _She hasn't been promoted since Ner'zhul's ancestors were grubbing in the dirt on Draenor._

"And I assure you I will lose what rank I have gained, unless I can prevent my superiors from learning what I have done today," Viri Starwater said.

"At least they won't kill you," Phage said. "Mine will. Having experienced it once, I am less than enthusiastic about repeating the process."

"I suppose there is the possibility that they will never find out," Viri said.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, Mistress," said a voice from behind Phage. He turned to see another huntress sitting astride her panther. Viri did not seem surprised that she was there. No doubt Night Elf ears were more sensitive than… Whatever Phage was using to hear. He was not entirely sure himself.

"Meisha," Viri said, without turning around. "I supposed it would be the druid Darkthunder. I never thought it would be you."

"I've been worried about you," the other woman said, edging her mount up on Viri's right side. "I sent Darkthunder to obtain written confirmation of our orders."

"Then you know I have specific orders to kill any Undead we meet," Viri said.

"I'm afraid so, Mistress. I wish now that I had never asked, but having done so, I cannot ignore what I know."

Phage was forced to slide sideways rapidly as the lioness whirled at some silent signal. He watched as she faced down the panther, tail twitching. Viri stared at Meisha without expression. After a moment, the other woman looked away.

"Then you must relieve me of my command," Viri said quietly. "But not before the girl has left the camp. I gave my word that she would be healed. You will not harm either her or the Lich, unless you kill me first."

"And I am prepared to make that very difficult for you," Phage said. Both of them ignored him.

"I would not have you break your word," Meisha said. "Though I believe you were wrong to give it. You may keep all that is yours here, and take Brightfangs. No one else would be able to ride her, in any case."

"You can't let me go," Viri said. "I should be sent back under guard."

"We cannot spare enough troops to send with you," Meisha said. "Especially when we lose the best warrior in the camp as it is."

"You see how hard is the way you have chosen?" Viri said, without rancor. "Yet I hope it proves easier than mine, in the end. We will not speak again, Meisha Swiftrider."

"Then goodbye, Viri Starwater," Meisha said, and the panther faded back into the shadows.

"I know it makes little difference, but I am sorry," Phage said as the silence lengthened.

"I, too, am sorry," Viri said. "And it makes no difference at all. You should be able to take your acolyte home soon, Phage Marrowice."

With that, she turned the lioness and faded into the leafy foliage of the camp.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Phage Marrowice and Felwyn Smallfinger walked into the Undead camp as the sun began to set. The sky was the color of bronze over the varied browns of the Barrens.

That is to say, Felwyn walked. Phage slid along beside her, occasionally glancing at her from the corner of one…socket. Viri Starwater had kept her bargain. The acolyte seemed completely healed, her new, pink skin forming oddly contrasting patches with the leathery tan of the old.

Something certainly occupied the socket where her eye had been burnt out. Phage was not sure it was an eye.

"Acolyte Felwyn," he said as they passed between the two guard ziggurats. The possessed dragon swooped low overhead, and Gray clattered a greeting and steered the beast away. "Can you see?"

"I can see on the left side, Lord," Felwyn said. "The other side is…different." She turned her face slightly toward him, showing the shining blue surface of whatever-it-was. It gleamed like glass in the waning light, smooth and vaguely translucent. Something red seemed to lurk at the back, as if a spark of dragon fire still lingered there.

_Different, _Phage thought. _Not blind._

The other acolytes converged on them as they moved toward the necropolis. Phage stopped in front of the entrance as Felwyn went to greet her fellows, accepting a new robe that Serwyn Stickbreaker had produced from somewhere. She shed the rags of the old one and put on the new, ignoring Jory and Varen as they quickly looked away. It was a little large for her, hanging loose on her thin frame.

Phage listened to the relief in their voices as they chattered away, all five hunched together like a small flock of crows. A couple of ghouls paused in their work to come over and see what was happening. Phage scratched one behind where its ears presumably should be. In the middle distance, an abomination lumbered past, now sporting a small and rather burnt dragon leg protruding from its left shoulder.

"I am pleased to see you have returned well, Lord Marrowice," said a voice beside Phage's left elbow.

The voice was male and slightly hollow, and only one creature in camp besides Phage could move that quietly. He turned without surprise to see the shade hovering next to him, transparent under the setting sun.

"What are the Night Elves doing since we left?" he asked.

"Packing up camp, Milord. The Ancients are uprooted. They seem prepared to leave the moon wells behind. A lioness without a rider goes with them."

"Very well." _Exactly the kind of defiant, futile gesture someone like Viri would make. Her mount can't go where she's going._

The shade lingered.

"Was there something else?" Phage asked after a moment.

"My comrade has returned from Northrend," the nameless specter said. He might have been reluctant. It was hard to tell with shades.

"Where is he?" Phage asked. His heart, or whatever occupied that space, sank.

"Here, Lord," said an indistinguishable voice from Phage's other side. "I come with ill news."

Phage, who began to wonder if there was any other kind, greeted this remark without surprise.

"Speak, Shade," he said.

"We have been disavowed, My Lord. The Crypt Lord I spoke to said that the Throne considers us, and our mission, a complete failure. Any of our party who return to Northrend are to be rendered for spare parts."

"Do they know about the Night Elves?" Phage asked.

"I do not think so, My Lord. You gave me no orders to tell them, and in any case, I did not know."

Phage threw back his skull and laughed. The sound was terrible, and the acolytes fell silent and turned to look at him fearfully.

_They disavowed me without even knowing what I've done. I wonder what would have happened if they'd known?_

Phage shook himself slightly. "Acolytes, were you aware of the news this shade brings?"

"I waited for your return, Lord," the shade said, as five puzzled humans shook their heads.

"I see. Gather the camp. Even the outlying sentries. I believe we've slaughtered enough local wildlife to be safe for a few minutes, at least."

A few moments later he hovered in front of five acolytes, seven ghouls, one banshee, two shades, one necromancer, and two abominations, newly embellished with dragon parts. Three skeleton archers stood at the back and chattered their teeth. The possessed dragon perched on the summit of the necropolis, wings folded carefully around the ancient skeleton on her back.

"I will be brief," Phage said. "The shade has returned from Northrend. The Lich King no longer has use for us, here or anywhere else. If we return to the Scourge, we will be destroyed.

"For myself, I will stay here. This is the closest I have had to a home since my rebirth. It's a harsh place, but at least the Scourge probably will not find me here. Each of you is now free to do as he, she, or it wishes. Acolytes, it is possible you may be able to pass for ordinary humans, if you now wish to do so."

"I can't," Felwyn said. Her voice already seemed different then before, stronger and yet more remote. "Not any more. But I would stay anyway. I am bound to my Lord. I will serve you as long as I live, and as long as I exist after that."

"So will I," Jory said.

"So will we all," Serwyn said. "If we wished to be ordinary humans, we would never have chosen to become acolytes." The others nodded their agreement.

"There is no safer place in all this mad wilderness than this camp," Ner'zirhud said in his quavering voice. "I will stay."

"I have known a lesser pain under your rule, Lord," the banshee said. "Perhaps I will find a resting place, as my sister has done."

"Sssstay," Gray said, from his place on the roof.

Phage looked at the abominations. They looked back from various rheumy eyes with no sign of comprehension. _Right. Why did I even ask?_ "You two can probably go back to patrolling now," he said.

"We done waiting!" one announced, and they turned and walked away with the rolling gait resultant from their uneven limbs.

The ghouls stood in a tight cluster, muttering in their growling voices. One edged forward. Its jaws worked for a few seconds, and finally produced:

"Work nnnow?"

"Yes, fine," Phage said. The ghouls scattered. "Acolytes. You are resolved to stay?"

"Yes, Lord," Jory said, when no one seemed about to say anything else.

"Then whichever one of you can summon fastest, start a new Temple of the Damned. We should have enough lumber by now, and there's certainly no shortage of stone."

"Yes, Lord Marrowice!" Variel Slowburn detached from the group and glided off toward a clear space next to the gold mine.

"Now…" Phage mused. "Ner'zirhud, what did you do with Mir'noj?"

"I am afraid your spell killed him, Milord," the necromancer said. "I have the body in the graveyard."

"Feed it to the ghouls, and use the bones for anything you wish. But I do not want him resurrected. He will not have that which he most desired. You are dismissed."

"Yes, Lord!" The necromancer scuttled away.

"As for the rest of you," he looked over the four remaining acolytes. "Which of you would like to train as a necromancer?"

Four hands instantly rose.

"I see. Yes. I suppose I will have to…" He trailed off as he realized an argument seemed to have started. The acolytes whispered fiercely to one another for a few seconds, and then Felwyn Smallfinger stepped resolutely forward.

"I will make the best necromancer, Milord," she said.

"I appreciate your resolve, Acolyte, but you are aware that necromancers have not traditionally been female?"

"I know, Milord," Felwyn said, without taking her eyes from his face. The light in her brown eye was figurative. The light in the other one was not."But the traditions of the Scourge will not serve us, now. And I am the best at learning new spells."

"It's true," Varen spoke up. "She'd do better than Jory or I would."

"Then in that case, Felwyn, your training will begin as soon as the new Temple is complete. Don't tell Ner'zirhud without me there. I want to see his face when he hears it.

"Nothing has been easy for us here. I see no reason why that should change. But your resolve warms me, to the extent that is possible, and I look forward to a long and profitable stay here in the Barrens. Tomorrow you will begin the expansion of our necropolis. For tonight, you are dismissed."

Phage glided over to look at the new Temple, which already began to take a spectral shape. A moment later he realized he had forgotten something.

"Shades?" Phage said.

"We are here, Milord," said a familiar voice. Phage looked around him, but saw nothing in the deepening darkness.

"You are, of course, free to go, if you wish," he said.

"We do not wish to leave, Milord," a shade said. "There is no place for a shade in the wilderness alone. And we would like to stay together. Perhaps one day you will see fit to produce another of our kind, and we will have another companion."

"I hope so," Phage Marrowice said. "But for now, I have some work for you."

"We shall be your eyes, Lord!"

"Very good. Here is what you will do."

He had not forgotten Viri Starwater. He knew her mood, and strongly suspected he knew what would happen to her after a few days of wandering in the wilderness in a fey cast of mind.

_I cannot hope that I am wrong. She has lived a long life, and one which I suspect was in many ways worse than my short one._

_Perhaps I will be able to persuade her that death need not be the end._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

Epilogue

Three days later, Felwyn Smallfinger stood on the roof of the new Temple of the Damned. She wore an animal skull tied over her new-cropped hair, and held a tall staff in her hand. Her new teacher had decorated it with the skull of Mir'noj. It seemed appropriate, having made her what she now was, that he should accompany her.

Smoke rose up around her, for Ner'zirhud was hard at work inside. A shade had come back with a report earlier in the day, and soon after the dragon had come back bearing a corpse.

And now the necromancer slaved over the broken body of a Night Elf, making her into something else. Felwyn noticed that Phage Marrowice came often to check on his progress.

_It is good that Phage Marrowice should no longer be alone._

Felwyn looked down at her feet. Her old eye was blinded by the smoke. With her new eye, she saw down through it and into the fire beneath. Further yet, she saw the dark pulse of new life beginning in the body of Viri Starwater. Through the dragon fire trapped close to her mind Felwyn saw the shape of that new life, and saw that it was not merely a banshee that would rise, but a dark huntress. _A warrior ready for this hard land._

Felwyn smiled. And the necromancer looked into the sunset with one human eye and one Undead one, and said:

_Not all that is broken is finished,_

_Not all that have perished are lost;_

_The seed of the mighty may flourish_

_In the stone that is split by the frost._

THE END


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